


Cinders

by hikaie



Category: Apex Legends (Video Games)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Dirty Talk, Explicit Consent, Face-Sitting, Fingerfucking, Hair-pulling, Kissing, Love Confessions, Minor Injuries, Mutual Pining, Oral Sex, Other, Outdoor Sex, Overstimulation, POV Second Person, Possessive Behavior, Snarky Bloodhound, Switching, no y/n
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-16
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:28:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23679154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hikaie/pseuds/hikaie
Summary: are you being hunted?or are you beinghaunted?
Relationships: Bloodhound (Apex Legends)/Reader
Comments: 14
Kudos: 162





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Sooo... I've had this in progress since December. I know I kind of fell off the map since like... last month? Well, that's not my longest gap so whatever. This'll be three (hopefully short) chapters, I'll throw 'em up quickly probably. Happy ending. ;) Heed the rating for later chapters; tags will update as needed. Enjoy!
> 
> [[inspired by](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=maGKgKTnKBI)]

With shaking fingers, you fumble on the floor for a bullet. Dozens of casings litter the floor, upturned packs spilling out and mixing where some other competitors have been careless- yourself included. The specialty rounds had slipped from your hands when you felt the tell-tale prickle on your neck, and now you’re paying for it. You palm it into place, honed in on the overloud sound of it in the hut. Rapidly sliding the action is as damning as a gunshot.

The stairs creak. Something turns in your stomach, and you raise the stock to your shoulder. It presses into that familiar sore spot, and you tilt your head automatically to look through the scope. Below you, there is a groan of wood, and then shocking silence. Somewhere far off a grenade explodes, thick and muffled, clearly having found an organic target.

You exhale, refusing to look at the stairwell. Through a crack in the weathered walls, you have just enough leeway to make the shot. This sound is unmistakable, if the others hadn’t been, the .50 cal cracking like a whip. Your target gets pushed forward onto their knees by the force of it. Downstairs your opponent abandons subtlety. You don’t focus on reloading your weapon, instead raising your sidearm as Bloodhound comes barreling up the stairs.

They take the first shot like a champ, plowing into you without a flinch even as part of their armor flies off and blood splatters the wooden floorboards. The two of you grapple; a gloved hand finds your wrist and twists, directing your second and third shots into the roof. Dust and debris rain over both of you. You’re close enough to hear their comms, the ugly wet sounds of a teammate bleeding out and begging for assistance.

“Not gonna leave a man down, are you, Bloodhound?” You grit out, one of their hands forcing your chin to the side so splintered wood scratches your face. Inching your hand out from between the press of your bodies, you lunge for the blade at their side. Quick as anything, they jerk their arm down to press against your throat and battle for the blade with the other hand. They’re grunting, breathing hard and fast, and you can feel blood saturating through your outfit beneath one of their thighs.

Maybe it’s your hyperawareness of their body that has you losing the upper-hand. More likely it’s them bending your fingers back from the handle of the dagger until you howl and release it. They snatch it up, growl, “Of course I’m not.” and you feel every inch of white-hot agony as they tuck it snug into your ribs.

And then you die.

They gave you the good drugs.

That’s your first thought when you wake up in medbay, sterile white ceiling ballooning in your vision. You smile dopily and lift your hand to tenderly pat your abdomen. There’s the barest twinge of pain. You must have needed a full respawn. Stab wounds usually hurt a lot more if there’s surgery involved- not so much when the tissue is regenerated.

The games are still going, the screen across from you on the wall showing an aerial view of Swamps. Colors and shapes blur together or squirm indistinctly, so you don’t watch for long. _Definitely_ the good drugs.

Shit. What was that, your third loss this season? If you didn’t pick it up they might not bring you back anymore. Certainly your sponsors were already grinding their teeth; you didn’t even care to think of how your fans might be reacting.

It was Bloodhound. Two direct kills, another by their squad. Were they targeting you? Weapon limitations and ability timers aside, there were few, if any, rules in the ring. For that reason you were lucky that it was their dagger and not their hatchet that made the kill. Still... it wouldn’t do to have them tanking your stats for no good reason.

Had you done something? Said something? You never could be sure which might offend them more; an uncouth action or a thoughtless tongue. And they talked shit with the best. No, it wouldn’t have been anything in the ring. That made you angrier, even through the fog of pain relievers- that they were bringing outside business into the ring. You thought them more… honorable than that.

It’s a ‘bot that clears you from medbay, and you find yourself half-high and still angry in the outer lobby. The games would go on awhile yet; you had no doubt Bloodhound was still on the roster. Maybe it would be best if you slept off the drugs and thought over what you would say to them. A devious smile curls your lips as you meander toward the elevator. You knew just where you could find them, tomorrow.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoa long time no see haha. Yyyeah I started this chapter like, immediately after posting the last one and hit a huge writers block with it, then the second half of it kind of just easily came out today, finally. Ramping up the tension this chapter but nothing spicy yet- you'll have to wait for chapter 3.
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> (Minor warnings on this chapter for wound care/surgical squick.)

The door to the training room swings shut with a heavy thump behind you, though you draw little attention from the nearly-empty gymnasium. The televisions are dark; no music plays over the speaker system. There is only the rhythmic hum of a treadmill and the soft hydraulic whine of Octavio’s feet as they hit the tread over and over. As you pass behind him you can hear the loud, frenetic tempo emanating from his headphones. Then, beyond him, there they are: wailing on a heavy bag. As you approach you’re privileged to see their glove glance off the faded fabric. Momentum carries the bag back into them, and they grunt when it catches on their knees and abdomen.

You watch as they shove it away, and then meet their eyes in the mirrors lining the walls. Their face is flushed from exertion, their brow crinkled. Were they annoyed, or angry that you’d seen them misstep? They turn around to face you, lowering their hands and lifting an eyebrow.

“Did you need the bag?”

“No, I uh- I actually needed to talk to you.”

“Ah.” Their mouth barely moves as they let out the noise. Bloodhound presses their gloved hands together and drops their head to the side, and that curious wrinkling of their forehead doesn’t leave. “Can it wait?”

Your face heats. “No, actually, it can’t.” Yeah, you only cornered them in the training room, one of a handful of places they show their face, because it could _wait_. The nerve.

“I see.” They look around and blow out a breath. “Perhaps you could wear the flat mitts, then? And we may speak.”

Though you concede to doing so, you’re grinding your teeth together the whole time. You really just want to dress them down, but they’re acting so _normal_. As normal as Bloodhound can act, anyway. As they go to retrieve the flats, you catch Octavio grinning bemusedly at you from his treadmill. You aim a scowl his way and he just keeps on smiling, shaking his head to boot. Everyone around here is immature, it seems.

Once you’ve strapped into the mitts and you’re standing across from them, their fists pounding tingles down to your elbows, you clear your throat.

“Is there something you want to tell me?”

Their right hook nearly makes you stumble- you don’t think they really intended that much force, because they take a step back and look at you with widened eyes. “Pardon?”

“Like- do I need to put on some real mitts so we can have it out here, instead of in the ring? ‘Cause I’m really sick of whatever extra game you’re bringing in there.”

Now they _smile_ , a thing that overtakes their lips slowly. “I am not sure I know what you mean.”

“Don’t you?” Their amusement makes you angrier. You push back on their next punch and in your periphery you watch as they have to dig their heels in. “Kinda thought you were better than bringing personal business into the Games, Hound.”

“Have I missed something? What business is it that you think I have with you?”

This time you’re the one digging your heels in, and your face flames. You feel your neck tense up as they bear down on you, your palms flaring with shock every time the smack of leather meeting leather rings out.

“You keep killing me.” You grit out. “ _Me_ , specifically. You, specifically!”

“Is that not what we are supposed to do?” To their credit, they manage to sound genuinely perplexed. But they’re clearly too used to having that damned mask on, and the obvious amusement on their face ratchets your anger higher and higher, until you’re stepping back and tearing uselessly at the Velcro straps on your wrists.

“If you’re just going to answer me in questions, we’re done here.”

“…Do you need help?” They ask, after several moments of you fumbling with the straps.

“Not from you, thanks!” You snap, barely catching their frown. _Good_.

“I am sorry if I have given you the wrong impression. The fact that we have crossed paths so many times… it is just happenstance.”

“Right.” Finally managing to free yourself from one of the gloves, the other comes off much easier, and you toss them down on the mat. “And maybe I’d believe you if you weren’t smiling like a damn fool.”

It’s oddly pleasing to see them blush, their lower lip trembling a bit as they stammer, “I-I am not-” They curl their lips together, and look askance into the mirrors.

“So maybe you can let _happenstance_ know that it’s going to tank my stats and then I’m going to be out of a job, if not my real, actual life.” They still look quite flummoxed, stormy eyes not meeting yours, shoulders rigid. You decide not to give them a chance to come up with a response, turning and stomping out past Octavio. He’s side eyeing you, and you snap at him as you pass.

“I can hear that you turned off your music, O!”

He starts running faster, and you let the training room door slam behind you.

* * *

Luck has it that Bloodhound doesn’t kill you during the match later that day.

Because they’re on your team.

When you see their banner alongside yours on the team callouts, your heart drops clean into your stomach. _Fuck_. You feel stiff when you step onto the platform next to them and Crypto, though they don’t say anything to you. They don’t say anything to either of you. You cast glances at them- their back, their neck, the curve of their shoulder. When the platform begins to lower, Crypto pings the distant Capacitor and they murmur their agreement over the comms.

The initial drop and looting go well- you seem to be far away from any other squad, and by the time you’re rotating toward the circle you’ve got a decent load out. Having two of the quietest squad mates means you only exchange curt directions from time to time. It’s driving you a _little_ crazy, if you’re honest with yourself. Even Wraith and Bangalore are good for a conversation, but these two are all business. At the very least, it makes firefights smooth as silk. Between Bloodhound’s scan, Crypto’s drone, and their clipped, unruffled callouts, you mow down the competition.

Huh. Is this always how they operate? It’s been awhile since you’d been on a team with Bloodhound. And last time… Octane had been your third. _That_ had been interesting. Nothing as mechanical and easy as this.

You’re looting your latest victims when a shot rings out, the deafening crack of a sniper. At first, you think it’s found its mark, because you go flying forward over the deathbox. And then you realize, no, that’s just because Bloodhound had barreled into you, and all of their considerable weight is still bearing down on you. The hard lines of the box beneath you cut into your hips. Instinctually, you flail a bit and whirl around when they let up, face flushed with anger and blood when you stand too quickly.

“I can protect myself!” is what you blurt, _impetuous_ , but what you’re really wondering is how they could ever stoop to being so petty. Their mask is as blank as ever. No blood mars their gear, and a quick glance at Crypto, now hurriedly fiddling with his drone, reveals he is uninjured as well. _Huh_. _Someone’s jumpy_.

“You’re welcome.” They finally reply, in such an imperious manner it has you clenching your hands into fists.

“Two squads nearby.” Crypto interrupts before things can _get_ bloody. You swing the strap of your rifle around until you can hold it properly in your hands, the familiar, well-worn grip settling into your grasp like an old friend. You don’t look at Bloth as you take off toward the nearby hill, sliding down feet-first and toward the direction of the ring. If they want to watch your back, so be it. You keep running just ahead of them, only feeling moderately bad that you’re also forcing Crypto to constantly catch up. It’s really amusing and maybe just a little immature, and then all of a sudden it’s not fun at all.

A gloved hand yanks you back before you enter a door to a building outside Containment. “ _Blood-”_ Your voice rises in anger and is quickly cut off by their other hand raising in a curt and obvious order to _be quiet_. You could kick yourself.

“There are traps laid here.” They murmur, tilting their head toward the door you had almost entered. Peering through the grubby glass you find that you can just see the edge of a trap, inflated with deadly gas and awaiting your thoughtless presence to tear open the flimsy casing. Some part of you, some stupid, prideful, small part of you wants to kick open the door. You fight that absolutely _moronic_ impulse and instead nod at them, though you do shrug out of their grip and head around the corner to get another angle of approach.

Big mistake.

 _They wanted us in the open_ , is your first thought when the bullet takes you out at the leg. _Fuck, Caustic’s still around_ is the second, because only that bastard goes for nonlethal from the get-go. You know you cry out, you know you’re making ridiculous noises as you drag yourself through the mud toward the side door, you know you don’t have long, just _enough_ time while that sniper gets reloaded. And who knows where his squad mates are. You’re grateful, this time, when Bloodhound grabs your arm and drags you around the opposite side of the building and continues to haul you bodily toward the balloon nearby. Crypto is posted on the roof of the building, taking potshots with his Hemlok, and you squint over your shoulder. Watchtower, of course.

“Wait, hold on- _ooh_ , _fuck_.” You squeeze Bloodhound’s wrist but they don’t let up, pulling you over the edge of the rocky creek before they finally stop. They’re the only thing keeping you standing between the pain and the current, and you blink at the clouds of red washing downstream from the two of you. Crypto comes splashing over the embankment, as well, and huffs.

“What are we waiting for?”

“Well, it _hurts_.” Seriously, can either of them cut you some slack today?

“No time for that.” He lets his bag slip from his shoulders halfway, unearthing a syringe for you before slinging it back up and taking one of your arms. “Let’s go.”

Between the two of them, your entire squad gets to the balloon. Blood loss and pain medication cloud your senses; you can feel blood wicking away from the fabric of your pants as you go hurtling toward the edge of the desert. They keep you up until you force them to stop, sheltered by the cave outside of Market.

Crypto crouches nearby to keep watch on his drone while you fumble around in your medkit. You depress the big syringe, first, the wave of relief making you woozy. Then comes fumbling with the forceps, which is never fun, least of all using them on yourself. Admittedly, you’re not very good at it. After watching you struggle for several long, whimpering moments, Bloodhound takes pity on you. They stabilize your ankle against their thigh, holding your calf with one hand and using the other to dig deeper than you would have managed to yank the bullet out. To your credit, you only cry a little bit.

After packing and bandaging the wound, as well as getting fit with a pretty decent splint that Bloodhound rigs up, you’re ready to move again. All your fight from earlier has gone out of you; you obediently follow as they lead, and lead they do; somehow, after the slow start and rough middle, the three of you finish with a win.

Crypto leaves you both with some quiet, polite words on the dropship. You fold down the first jump seat you find, sinking onto it with a groan. Your room is simply too far away. Bloodhound is still nearby, and you squint at them, wanting nothing more than to pass out until you’re back at the Tower. “Good game.” You grit out, and close your eyes, hoping they take that as their cue to leave.

They’re silent, so silent you think they _have_ taken the hint, but then their footsteps draw close and you feel the way their body hovers close to yours, and sure enough when you open your eyes once more they’re looming over you.

“Um, hi?”

“You are _reckless_.” Their voice is low, accusatory, and you press your back straight up against the wall and fix them with a glare.

“You pissed me off.”

A scoff floats out of their respirator as a fuzzy noise, but you’re well-accustomed to it by now. _Oh, when had that happened? When had you learned to tell apart their laughs and derisive snorts?_ “You allowed anger to cloud your judgement, and placed yourself at undue risk.”

“Oh, so are you the only one allowed to kill me, now?” It comes out fairly snide, clearly sarcastic when accompanied by your eyes rolling and petulant crossing of your arms. Yet above you they stiffen, and you catch their hands clenching at their sides. Oh.

Oh?

“You placed our squad at a disadvantage.” They bite back. Your lips are slightly parted, a smile starting to creep over you. The pain medication has completely blasted your inhibitions out of the water.

“The squad, huh? What happened to it being about _me_ being in danger?” Yeah, you’re full on smirking. You’re so going to regret this later, but vengeance is oh-so sweet when they’ve been playing their games for weeks.

“You-” They begin, voice suddenly very harsh, and you hear the leather of their gloves creak when they press their tight fists to their hips. “-are _infuriating_.”

“Takes one to know one.” You feel warm; you feel tired. They’re nearly vibrating, and you’re really not sure if it’s genuine anger or something else. Finally their body relaxes and they straighten up.

“We are not done speaking about this.” They turn on their heel, but, no, you’re not allowing them to have the last word.

“You could’ve just asked me to dinner.” You call out to their back, and if they could slam their door you think they would- but the way it slides shut behind them is almost as satisfying. With a content smile, you tuck yourself back against the wall and instantly drop off into sleep. Yeah, you can _definitely_ work with this.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for taking so long to update, as usual haha. This was getting _really_ long so I decided to break it up into two chapters. Nothing more for me to say here, enjoy!
> 
> (Edit 2/16/21: oh my GOD everyone should check out this incredible art drawn by @volta_FF on twitter!! [link](https://twitter.com/volta_FF/status/1361279069229248512) it's incredible! T_T)

You drop into the grass, practically getting a mouthful of dirt as you go. One moment you’re heaving for air and the next you’re having to carefully modulate it down to a wheeze, your lungs burning with the effort. The fact is, you’re pretty screwed here. You know exactly who’s following you, and there’s very little chance some weeds are going to camouflage you enough to escape their notice. _They’re not even ulting_. The heavy tread you’d surely left behind in the soft earth surrounding the river would lead them straight to you.

There’s a shack to your right, so you crawl under the porch and press yourself to the crumbling soil holding it up. Here your own breaths sound louder, bouncing back to your ears by the weathered boards above your head. Your heartbeat begins to stutter, and maybe it’s all these sounds and distractions that has you missing their footsteps- but that’s unlikely. They’re just that good.

Bloodhound wrenches you out from under the porch and you scream, throwing out one hand to grab one of the posts and fumbling for a grenade with the other. Stupid fucking gun _jammed_ and you’d tossed it aside in the river, praying you could outrun them. No such luck.

For a moment the two of you tussle. It’s nothing like last time- no even match here. They kick the frag out of your hand like it’s a useless toy, pin still inserted and whole, and then they grind the heel of their boot into your wrist. You kick twice, three times at their opposite shin, earning only a grunt and their weight falling over you, pressing you down and knocking precious oxygen from your lungs. “Your journey ends today.” Bloodhound huffs it out, and you get to feel the rush of pride at making them _work for it_ before they hit you with the stock of their gun.

The Game had drawn on long this day, leaving you to walk from medbay back to your apartment in dim lighting. There’s a knot of rage stuck against your diaphragm to match the knot atop your head. Apparently Bloodhound hadn’t understood. You’d just have to make them.

When you enter the elevator, you hit the button for the ground floor rather than your own. It stops on the fifth level to allow Natalie and Renee aboard. Ever the sweetheart, Natalie greets you. Renee leans over and murmurs something in her ear, and you don’t miss the way the two of them glance over at you before shuffling together, closer to the other side of the small lift. The metaphorical steam must be pouring from your ears. Once on the ground floor, you grunt in farewell before speed walking across the lobby, exiting a side door into one of the exterior plazas of the main Apex complex.

People keep looking at you furtively, almost disbelieving- you’re half-dressed in your ring gear, your suit tied up around your waist to reveal your dirt and blood caked undershirt. Your wounds may be healed, but they can only do so much for your clothing. An occasional hopeful fan will catch one look of the dark look on your face and visibly rethink approaching you. It makes the train ride across Solace City interesting.

You’ve never done this- sought them out _outside_ the Games, out of familiar territory. You’d had to dig around for this information- you weren’t proud of it, but Bloodhound was notoriously private, and you’d originally intended to use the intel for an entirely different reason. But that was _before_ today’s match. You’d thought- well. It had been a few days since you’d embarrassed them on the dropship, and you’d wanted to test your theory, so maybe you’d teased them.

And by teasing them, maybe you’d pushed things too far. You’d had them knocked, curled up on the ground with a tight fist staunching the blood pouring from the wound in their shoulder, as you stepped ever closer. Had it been the way you’d taken careful, purposeful steps? Maybe it was the way you’d slowly, almost _casually_ reloaded your gun as you did so. Or it could have been the way you’d leaned in as you settled your boot on their chest, voice smug as you’d asked “Now who’s reckless?”

Yeah. There were a lot of points you could have toed over the line. You were playing with your food, and you distinctly remembered them being rather _averse_ to that. But after weeks of feeling like little more than an unsuspecting mouse caught in the eyes of an owl, it was thrilling to have them at your mercy. It was even gratifying to hear them wheezing even through the respirator and to feel their free hand weakly push at your ankle.

And then you’d been third partied.

While you were getting your ass handed to you from two different directions, their squad got them back up, and then it was just you and them. As if there were only two of you in the whole big arena, on the entire planet. The other squad was forgotten, both of your own squads were forgotten. This had to be _settled_.

As far as you were concerned, it still _wasn’t_ settled. Which is why you find yourself in the outskirts around Solace City, scaling the gate to the nature preserve. The light pollution is only moderate here, but still enough to see across the main park- there’s a large adobe structure with colorful awnings and domed portions, as well as several smaller adobe outbuildings. You creep along the dimly-lit path that leads around the side of the main structure, passing several educational signs about the local flora and fauna.

Crypto had been… reluctant, to share this information, to say the least. Good thing Pathfinder had a big mouth, and you knew how to bargain. Owing Kim might come back to bite you in the ass, but needs must. You continued down the path until it devolved into stone steps leading down to the loose gravel indicating the nature trails. It took some backtracking and winding around in the dark, but eventually you found the place where you had to go off trail, a wooden bridge that went over a low creek. You heaved yourself over the railing, falling into the water with a splash that immediately set you to shivering.

Even though Solace was well known for its _eternal summer_ , the nights could become dangerously cold. But the creek provided a much-needed window for the light of Solace’s moons to filter through the tree canopy. Aside from the chattering of your teeth, the night feels tranquil. Outside of the hustle and bustle of the city there is only the sound of the wind in the trees, and the trickle of the water, accompanied by the smells of mud and alien plants, and the soft chittering of some animal in the brush. You pick your way along the bank of the creek until the water shrinks to an easily traversable puddle, crossing into the dark and yawning woods. Perhaps it was a fools’ errand, throwing yourself into an unknown wood in the middle of the night, but you had to make them understand how serious you were about this. The only way you could hammer that point home was to come to them on their own turf. And you could pretend you’d manage to unsettle them at all- as if you weren’t suddenly anxious at the prospect of getting lost in the preserve.

Overhead, a bird cries. A shiver zips down your spine. You’ve been found out. You glance up, catching the dark shape of a familiar wing passing between the branches of a coniferous tree. The raven circles you once, twice, almost lazily, before swooping down. With a yelp, you flinch back hard, landing on your ass in the dirt, only to feel abashed when Artur alights on your shoulder and pecks gently at your cheekbone.

“H-hey, buddy…” You raise one finger to his beak, which he pecks at less gently. Hissing, you snatch your hand away and scramble to your feet. He digs his talons in to stay steady, remaining on your shoulder. “Uh. So… you gonna let Hound know I’m here?”

The raven cocks his head and quorks softly and you shake your head, feeling foolish for talking to him. He ruffles up his feathers and settles in comfortably on your shoulder, and you feel at a loss for a few moments before he caws loudly. You nearly jump out of your skin.

“What?!”

Artur pecks your cheekbone again, drawing a cut-off swear, before finally lifting off from your shoulder to glide to the forest floor. He looks back at you, and you feel the uncomfortable sensation of being not just seen, but _watched_.

“…You want me to follow you?”

Another quork, some shuffling of his talons in the leaves. You brush dirt from the seat of your pants before following his lead. Now sure that you’ve got the picture, he takes to the air to glide short distances overhead, pausing on branches to croak at you occasionally. After a time bumbling your way through the forest, you begin to smell wood smoke, and Artur pauses less and less to guide you on your way. You come to a sudden stop, frozen by the visible fire between the trees ahead. Nervousness coils tight in your stomach and inches up your throat, streaming out of your mouth in a foggy breath. Artur does not return for you, but the feeling of being watched remains.

“Gathering your courage?” Bloodhound calls from up ahead, and you jump. You blow out another breath, embarrassed and almost angry, before trudging forward into the clearing. They are sitting on the ground, their face turned toward the fire. The warm light dances across their face and makes their lidded eyes appear even more severe, but only until they lift them to you. Bloodhound smiles at you.

“To what do I owe the honor?”

“We have unfinished business.”

“Oh, I do believe I clearly finished it today.” The smug fuck is still smiling placidly as they turn back to the fire, stoking the flames higher by manipulating the firewood with a longer stick. You curl your fingers into your palms until you feel the bite of your nails against your skin.

“No, I don’t think you did. You could’ve caught me sooner, but you stopped to take care of that squad who third-partied us.”

They don’t say anything, but their arm stills and they set aside the stick. You step further into the clearing. Now you can see that their hair is down, long, soft black curls falling over their shoulders. For a moment the two of you waver in the silence, with only the crackling of the fire as backdrop for the mounting tension. They duck their chin to their chest, rolling their neck before letting out a sigh. Some of their hair falls into their face at the motion.

“You are cunning.” Bloodhound says, not looking up from the fire. “I have watched as you laid your traps and your unsuspecting foes stumbled into them. Your abilities with a rifle are without match. When you snipe, I am…” a frustrated noise escapes them. “ _heillaður._ I do not know the word. You… you are a distraction.”

“So you kill me?” You blurt, barely taking the time to appropriately process _everything_ they had said. It’s difficult to focus, what with your heart clenching in your chest and your blood rushing in your ears. Were you to be flattered, or offended?

Bloodhound surges to their feet, turning to you so fast you don’t have time to step back. They look down at you, the fire now at their back making the defined slope of their eyebrow look menacing. “Why are you here?”

“You can’t keep killing me just because you don’t want to _like me_! I’ll go up the ladder if I have to-”

They grab both of your arms abruptly enough that you jerk, but their hands do not clench, they only hold you in place. You realize that the two of you are in the middle of the woods, and that no one knows where you are, but the fact remains that you are _both_ killers, and you won’t let them intimidate you. “You misunderstand. There are those that would have you _suffer_. I have to make it quick for you. It pains me to watch a lesser competitor take your life, knowing that they might be sloppy.” Their voice comes out low and urgent, and now their fingers do dig into your arms, and you realize they are bare of gloves and you are feeling their skin on your own.

“But today… for the first time, I…” Bloodhound squeezes their eyes shut, and it pulls the web of thin scarring around their face inward, like a soft ripple across their skin. Not for the first time, you wonder why they hide this face away- what shame is there in these scars? They so perfectly highlight the high arch of their cheekbone and frame their eyes such that the grey of their irises always seems to pop. “You don’t know what you do to me. _Falleg skepna._ You are a strong fighter and you are confident. There are few that would track me down like this for such a task. By the Gods, I _want_ you.”

Heat springs to your face. You had surely suspected, after the exchange in the dropship, and you’d even egged it on with the way you’d gotten up close and personal today. But to hear it said so brazenly, to have it made so clear to you is another matter entirely. They are still staring down at you, and now the gaze has _weight_ behind it. Though the night is cold, the heat of their skin on your own coupled with the intensity of their eyes on your own has you sweating.

“You are right,” they continue, voice growing ever softer. “I am not being fair. Though life often is not, yes?”

You’re watching their mouth as they speak, absolutely enraptured by the way the scarring puckers across the left side of their bottom lip. When you meet their eyes once again, they click their tongue.

“Are you listening to me? You have not said a word.”

You nod. “I don’t know what to say.” You admit in a croak.

“Ah, for once you bite your tongue.” Mockery edges into their tone.

“Why me?” Your voice sounds _breathier_ than you intended, and you write it off as a side effect of the long trek it took to get here. For a moment, you believe they’re holding you tighter, but no, you’ve begun to lean into their grip. “You’re…”

“I’m?” They prompt, tilting their head in an utterly familiar way, and your brain whirls with thoughts: _have they looked at me like this beneath the helmet? Have they lowered their eyes to my lips like that? Were they smiling that same self-satisfied way?_

“A _jackass_!” You seethe, and surge upward to kiss them. Their mouth opens in surprise, a laugh slipping out, so you bite them, and in return they bite you back. Bloodhound’s hands quickly slide from your arms to your back, drawing you in until you’re pressed to their chest. The two of you are still kissing messily, biting and wet, neither willing to give up the upper hand. Then they take it all at once- their right hand drags up your spine and their warm palm presses to the side of your neck, their thumb tilting your chin into the kiss, their tongue sliding slick over your own. You _moan_.

“This isn’t how you tell people you like them.” You growl against their mouth. Bloodhound chuckles, moving their thumb to your lower lip, tracing the edge before kissing you once again, softer.

“It seemed to work.” They murmur. Continuing the slower pace, they gently suckle your upper lip. Their pinky is stroking along the side of your neck, driving you mad. “Is this what you came here for?”

“I don’t know.” Both of you are talking against one another’s mouths, trading kisses between the hushed words. “I… I didn’t know what to do about you.”

“About me? What am I to do about you?” Bloodhound’s voice is rough, and without giving you a chance to answer they clutch your face in both hands and drag you into another deep kiss. It leaves you breathless, your weight sagging into them when they draw back to say, “I thought that I knew want before, yet now that I’ve known your taste, what would you have me do?”

“Stop killing me, for one.” You mutter. They’re still cupping your face, though one hand is tracing wonderingly over your features. The flames of embarrassment and arousal have only grown, your face scorching, your stomach churning. They smell nice, up close like this, like smoke and earth and some delicate floral scent. Not that you hadn’t noticed before, but, well, _sniffing_ your enemies, let alone your _squadmates_ was sure to draw unwanted attention. Although, it seemed Bloodhound had had an advantage. You’d had no idea they’d watched you for so long.

“I could be persuaded to stop hunting you down… a shame, given you are such a worthy opponent.” They crack a smile when you huff and narrow your eyes. “Though I cannot promise that I will not attempt to ease any potential suffering I foresee you undergoing.”

“An under-the-table deal… who knew you had it in you, Hound?”

“It is no such thing.” They sweep your hair aside and cup the nape of your neck. It feels terribly intimate, the way they urge the weight of your head into their sure hold, their forehead resting upon yours. Your eyes are so close, the firelight reflected in the dark depths of their blown-wide pupils. They’re beautiful, and you want to climb them like a tree. “It is the All Father’s will that a fighter such as yourself should fall with honor.”

“Gee,” you laugh but it comes out strained. “-you sure know all the right things to say, Hound.”

“Enough talk.” They hum, kissing you thoroughly enough to hush you. “There are other things I wish to busy my mouth with.”

You tremble in their arms at the sweet-talk, but glance hesitantly around them at the fire. There is a sparse bedroll laid out on the far side of the one-person camp. “Uh. Bloodhound? Isn’t there a little problem? There’s not exactly anywhere for us to… _do_ that.”

At that they look up as well, raising a quizzical eyebrow at the bedroll. “Will that not suffice?”

“S’kinda… out in the open.” You gesture vaguely, twirling one finger in a circle.

“Ah, no one will be coming through here anytime soon. Although if you insist, we could make the long journey back into the city-”

“ _No!_ ” You clap your hand over your mouth and cast your eyes askance. You’d risen onto your toes with the force of your refusal of that option. “I mean… here is fine.”

Bloodhound turns your chin toward them once more, letting you feel the heavy weight of their uninterrupted attention again. “Only if you so desire.”

 _Fuck_. How could they just say stuff like that? You’d never had such a lengthy conversation with them, had never realized they were only quiet by practice, not because they had nothing to say. They are competent and strong and infuriating and inspiring. But they’re also a smartass and a silver tongue, it seems. Arousal is throbbing between your thighs.

“Please.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heillaður - lit. "fascinated"; in this instance, entranced  
> Falleg skepna - beautiful creature
> 
> God I love writing snarky-ass Bloodhound, can you tell? Sorry for the cliff hanger, but next chapter should make up for it!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The awaited conclusion- approximately 3.8k of pretty much entirely smut! Before we get into it, here are some FYIs:
> 
> -vulva/clit/labia/breast(s)/etc. are used for reader; no explicitly gendered terms are used for them.
> 
> -dick/cock/entrance/opening are used for Bloodhound; they are implied to have breasts.
> 
> (I personally do not ascribe to tagging something as "AGAB character" given that people can have all types of genitals and have some wildly different AGABs. Personal preference, and I am nonbinary myself.)
> 
> -negotiation between 2 partners occurs in the middle of sex rather than being discussed beforehand. everything is 100% consensual.
> 
> I may or may not do an epilogue. As always, enjoy, and I hope it was worth the wait. :)
> 
> (Tiny edit: I'm now on twitter! If you wanna see stuff I'm working on (writing/art) give me a follow. @hikaie Age must be in bio and you must be over 18 or I will be blocking!)

Bloodhound surprises you by kissing you softly. Their hand strays to the top of your head, and they caress the tender, scarred flesh where they hit you earlier that day.

“Are you still injured?”

“Hmmh?” you murmur dreamily. “Uh, no. My clothes are just dirty.” Still, the sensation on your skin makes you wince. They redirect their hand to the neck of your undershirt.

“May I divest you of them, then?”

In lieu of a verbal response, you raise your arms. They tug the hem free of your bottoms, peeling the material off of you slowly. Once free, they delicately fold the garment before tossing it in the direction of the pallet. Only then do they turn their eyes to your chest.

“Can I touch you here?” They ask, hand skimming up your side to rest beneath the band of your sports bra. The consideration makes you pause.

“Is that… are they something you like?”

A slow, wicked smile spreads over their face. “It is rarely a preference to have my own touched, but any part of you that I can bring pleasure, I desire to experience.”

“Oh.” you breathe. “Yeah. You can touch me anywhere you want to.”

Their hand cups under the curve of your breast, their thumb skimming over the fabric until they find your nipple. “Forgive me if I still check in.”

“Already forgiven.”

Bloodhound blinks, then chuckles. “So quick to pardon me when you are getting what you want.” They pinch your nipple, drawing a tortured breath.

“You’ve got a real mouth on you, y’know that?” you snap.

Their forefinger curls over the top hem of your bra and drags it down. A sudden chill races across your skin, raising goosebumps and tightening your nipples. When their eyes drop, so do yours, the both of you taking in the sight of them palming your breast. A sudden dreamlike feeling washes over you, like this isn’t real.

“I think that is the point.” they husk.

While they are distracted with your body, you lift your lips to theirs. The lovely inhales it earns you makes you push greedily into their hands. You want to feel more, to reassure yourself that this is actually happening. Their bottom lip is plush between your own as you suck it into your mouth. Bloodhound fumbles with your bra, pulling it up enough to free both breasts. Their palms are warm and calloused, and they shake whenever you nibble on their lip.

“Hound, you’re wearing too many clothes.”

“I wholeheartedly agree.”

They direct one of your hands to the stays for their tunic, leaving one of their own on your skin. While you struggle to open the unfamiliar fastenings, they trail their fingers from sternum to navel, driving you mad. When you’ve finally got the damn things undone, they step away to shuck it off, taking the thin undershirt and fur scarf with it. Their abdomen is defined at the top when they stretch, but softens to a layer of fat near their waist as they relax. Numerous scars litter their skin, some disappearing under their own compression underwear.

“Damn.” You mutter, and when you find them watching you _look_ at them, your face fills with heat.

“Let’s get you out of that.” Bloodhound holds out their hands, palms up, and you lift your arms for them again. They treat every article of clothing with the same care, folding and discarding it nearby, until they have you naked and squirming on their bedroll.

“Hound.” You groan, digging your nails into their scalp. “ _Please_.”

The damned tease doesn’t raise their mouth from your chest, nor ease the pressure of their thigh from between your own. They’re heavy- all solid muscle draped over you, warming you. You squint through watery eyes at the licks of flame curling into the air above the fire. You feel liquid, molten right down to the throb of your clit against their thickly muscled leg.

“To have you under me is such a treat.” Their voice is soft, almost tender. “I would take my time with you.” One of their hands dips down to part your labia, exposing your clit to their slow torment.

“Oh, _fuck_!” You drop your head back and tighten your fist in their hair. After several tugs they get the picture and rise to kiss you, open-mouthed. They swallow your desperate noises for long minutes as they encourage the grind of your hips against their thigh. There’s a growing slickness between your skin and theirs that allows them to jerk your clit with ease.

When your noises start to turn agonized, they pull back from your mouth. “You may cum whenever you wish.” Their other hand delicately moves your sweaty hair from your face. They look beautiful like this- their face only half-visible between the fire and their hair cascading in a curtain around you. The effect is one of faux-privacy. Although you’re outside, exposed, you feel as if they have you hidden away somewhere. The only space that exists is the hairs-breadth apart that your bodies are, their wet lips close to your skin and eyes so dark they’re like looking down a deep well. You ache with desire you hadn’t let yourself entertain, jerking feebly when they grind their thigh against you.

“I want you!” you moan. “Oh- _ohh, Hound_ , I- please-”

“Cum for me, let me see you.”

It starts in your clit, that inexorable point of no return. Pressure mounts until Bloodhound practically forces it to crest over you, your orgasm washing over you in one massive wave. It wrenches a relieved shout from you, and you tighten around nothing, your legs twitching and toes curling. They hum appreciatively, slowing their hand to a manageable massage to guide you through the aftershocks.

“Lovely.” They breathe, descending on you to kiss you softly. You loosen your hands in their hair just to hold them close, accepting their attention gratefully. For a few moments you exchange languid kisses, and their body eases over you, a comfortable weight.

Bloodhound presses their forehead to yours. You gently finger comb their hair over to one side, exposing your faces to the firelight. Their cheeks are flushed and their eyes are lidded. It’s such a marvel to see them like this; though they often took their mask off around certain Legends, yourself included, most knew not to stare. Right now you feel encouraged to look your fill, so you take in the purposeful imperfections of their tattoos. When you trace your fingers from the jagged edges on their chin and trail over to the spidery scars on their cheeks, they lay their hand over your own and drag your fingertips to their mouth. Your breath hitches at the contact.

“I want to taste you.” The confession is murmured into your skin, their eyes cracking open. “I want to make you fall apart again and again.”

“I want to touch you too.” You whine, slipping your free hand around to stroke down their back. The ridges of their musculature are interrupted by hills and craters of scar tissue. What a rough life they’ve led. No wonder they’re so brutal in the ring. It makes their gentleness here, with you, mystifying. You feel fragile, in a good way- as if they’re treating you like something _special_.

“In good time.” They part from your skin with a chaste kiss and sit up. You dip your hands between your thighs shyly, covering yourself while they rake their gaze down your body. Bloodhound chuckles at your actions, lips twitching in a smile, and brushes their fingers over the back of your hands tauntingly. Their mouth on you will surely undo you.

After considering you for what feels like an infinity, they reach back to sweep their hair into a loose bun atop their head, looping it expertly until it holds itself with no assistance. “Come here.”

“I’m already here.” You gnaw on your bottom lip and can’t resist a smile. They huff and grab your hands, pulling you into a sitting position. On their knees above you like this, you have to look up to meet their eyes. Slotting your fingers through theirs, you lean into their chest.

“Can I touch you here?” As you ask, your lips brush over the fabric of their compression top. Their own mouth parts, a shaky breath falling out.

“Not yet.” They whisper, and then they’re pulling away and you’re wondering if you’ve messed up, shame and worry welling up in your throat but they’re just settling back on the opposite end of the bedroll, awkwardly uncurling their long legs from beneath themself to stretch out in front of you. Their chest flattens slightly and the muscles in their stomach reveal themselves in the light from the fire. Bloodhound reclines on their elbows and lifts their chin.

“Come _here_.” They repeat, mouth a crooked slash across their face.

No longer is there anywhere for you to hide. Their eyes greedily drink you in as you shuffle up along their body, until your hips are within reach and they can urge you on. You grunt as they dig their fingers into your ass and scramble to comply with their eager groping.

“Are you, uh- Hound, you sure about this?” You gasp when they drag their nails down the backs of your thighs as they lower their arms.

“Very.” They tilt their head to kiss the top of your thigh. “Put your legs over my shoulders, _yndisleg_.”

You do as asked, and their sure hands curl around the tops of your thighs, jerking you down once you’re in position. Embarrassment has you wanting to close your thighs, but you’re aware of their head between them and stop short. You attempt to ease some of your weight off of them by leaning forward on your hands, but they pull you ever closer, until they’re pressing the flat of their tongue to the bottom of your slit and licking up languorously. The sounds you make get swallowed by the night, lost to the wind in the trees and the crackle of the fire. When you look down, their eyes are closed as if in bliss.

“Can I put my hands in your hair?” You ask when they suckle your clit between their lips. Their smile and slow, careful nod make your thighs tremble. A fervent moan escapes you when they flick their tongue; you delve your hands into their hair in response.

“Wh… what should I- _ohhh shit_ \- I do if it’s too much? Iffff- _right there_ \- you need to breathe?”

Their left hand slips from your leg and pinches the crease between your ass and thigh. It makes you jolt away from their mouth with a whine. When you look down, they’re licking their grinning lips.

“Do not worry.” Wet kisses are pressed into your thighs. “I can take it.”

“Cocky, are we?” Something catches in your chest when they flick their eyes up at you and tease their tongue against your vulva. “Careful, Hound. Last time I had you on your back, I didn’t finish you off.”

They growl, the vibration making you buck. At an encouraging squeeze to your rear, you start up a slow grind against their willing mouth. You try to hold back, you really do, but it doesn’t take much for the muscles in your thighs to weaken. Their hands keep you steady when you start to slip, but their unhurried tongue-fucking is contributing to the issue. They seem content to ignore your clit, instead focusing on lapping up your slickness, humming occasionally in a mortifyingly _satisfied_ way. Your previous orgasm had left you wound up, tight, but they ease you open once again until you _ache_ , letting out needy groans and tugging on their hair.

“Wait.” At your words, they let you sit up from their face. A gentle hand strokes up and down the side of your hip. Looking up at you, face ruddy and lips wet, Hound still manages to appear concerned even while so thoroughly debauched.

“Are you alright?”

“Uh-huh.” You nod and it makes you dizzy, or maybe that’s all the blood in your face. “Need your fingers in me, _please_.”

They reel you back in with a groan, going straight for your clit. Their left hand slides up to the small of your back, pushing you forward until you’re curling your hands into the bedroll, and then you feel them slip two fingers into you. You shake and clench around them, fucking back against their hand. You’re so wet they slip in easily, and then they turn their wrist just-so and curl their fingers and you keen. Bloodhound keeps a leisurely pace, massaging against that spot that makes you clench deliciously while tracing circles around your clit with their tongue. With a sob, you free up one hand to tug demandingly on their hair. A surprised little “ _mmh!_ ” leaves them, causing you to hump greedily against their mouth.

“Close!” You cry out, and they slip a third finger in for good measure. All it takes is them finally, blessedly sucking on your clit like it’s their _job_ to have you flying apart.

“Oh fuck _fuck, fuck!_ ” There’s no stopping your thighs tightening around their head nor the curl of your body halfway into the grass, pulling your clit away from the stimulation of their mouth. Bloodhound takes it in stride, keeping up the thrusts of their fingers into your fluttering walls until you cry for mercy.

When you think you’ve got your breathing under control, you rise onto your knees and look down at them. They look positively blissed out, looking at you through lidded eyes and nose crinkled in a dopey smile. Their chest is heaving as they, too, regain their breath. Although your thighs ache, you carefully maneuver back over their arms, scooting down until you can claim their mouth. Their arms wrap around you, damp fingers cradling you at the nape of your neck.

“What was that before, about not finishing me off?” They murmur when you pull away, only to tongue away the taste of yourself from around their mouth.

“Worried?” You crack a smile at them.

“You talk a big game… but you are often true to your word.” They bite their lip. “I do not expect reciprocation at this time, if you do not want-”

“Shut up.” You slip your hand between their thighs, cupping their sex through their clothing. A wanton sigh escapes them, bringing with it a heady sense of power.

“Take them off.” They plead, eyes closed and head back, as if they’re already overwhelmed by a little over-the-pants action. You hurry to comply, glad to find that these, at least, have a traditional button and zipper. At the sound of you undoing their fly, they lift their hips, but you pause at their underwear.

“These too?” You snap the band against their skin to clarify, giggling at the shudder it induces.

“Those too.”

You separate to drag their pants and underwear off; when you attempt to fold them as they had done your own, they tear them from your hands and throw them aside. Their top stays on, though when you press lingering kisses to their clavicle they tilt their head to the side, allowing you to lick downward until you can suck on their nipple through the fabric. It makes them _writhe_ , your legs twisting together, letting you feel the swell of their…

Huh.

“Hound?”

They look at you blearily between slitted eyelids, mouth open on wheezing gasps. “Hnn?”

“What should I, uh… any words I shouldn’t use?” Turning a bit in their arms, you let your knee rub between their legs. An almost-relieved sigh escapes them, and you are utterly charmed to see them blush heavily.

“It… depends.”

“Well, right now…” You lower your hand, making sure they can feel it slide across their abdomen before you work a finger on either side of them. Their breath stutters. “What should I call this?”

“M-my dick.” Oh, you made them _stammer_. You jerk your fingers on either side of their engorged cock, finding them deliciously sensitive to your touch. With your thumb still stroking them, you slip your fingers down to where they’re wet.

“And this?”

They moan fretfully, turning their head to press their fist to their mouth. You don’t dare dip your fingers inside, not without knowing, but you tease around their entrance, gathering their slickness on your fingertips.

“No answer?” Stroking the slickness up, you massage slowly over their dick. Their hips cant up into your hand; the two of you shift until their thighs part around your waist. “Then… do you want my fingers at all?”

A hurried nod, followed by a desperate, “ _Yes_.” Given their permission, when next you press your fingers to their opening, you ease your middle finger in, keeping your thumb against their dick. They’re wet and silken inside, and you quickly slip another finger in. Apparently it was the right idea, because they flutter around you and whine.

“More.”

“Of what?” Unfortunately, the angle doesn’t allow you to reach their mouth, so you instead return to laying kisses across their chest. One of their hands tangles into your hair.

“Another finger.” they gasp. You oblige.

What you’d drawn out of them hadn’t been the half of it; they’re _soaked_ , and you slip three fingers in to massage over their walls.

“Is this all for me?” You tease, cheek smooshed against their torso. They groan out an affirmative. “This how hot I get you, Hound? Look at you… I bet you’d beg, if I made you, huh?”

“You need not ask.” They’re hoarse. Still refusing to look at you, they speak into the night, but you still take in their words with mounting desire. “Please. My body is yours. I am yours. _Please_.”

The admission renders you speechless. You feel warm all over, beyond where your skin is sticking to theirs with sweat, beyond where they feel flame-hot against your fingers. A new vigor overcomes you, and they wail when you begin to fuck them hard and fast with your fingers, thumb jolting against their dick with every thrust. It doesn’t take long at all until they spasm wildly, choking on the force of their orgasm. You slow your fingers as they clench around them and one of their legs curls around your waist.

You want to wring another one from them, the way they had you, but they quickly prove to be much too sensitive to the attention. Still, they accept it for a few moments nonetheless, shaking and repressing tortured noises as you jerk them.

“Enough!” They sound close to tears when they finally blurt it out. “Oh, Gods, I can’t…”

“Okay, shh, okay.” You crawl up their body, finally luring them into another kiss. They draw you into their arms once more, holding you in that achingly tender way you’ve begun to ascribe to so many of their actions. You find yourself taking up more of the bedroll than them as the chill of the night descends over your naked body, and you wiggle away to at least find your shirt and give them time to recuperate. They let you go with obvious remorse, hands lingering on your skin as you stand.

Bloodhound clearing their throat draws your attention, and you turn to look once you’ve got your shirt and underwear back on. They’re sitting atop their bedroll, legs crossed, utterly comfortable in nudity. The way they look at you has your stomach churning.

“I apologize if I was too… personal.” They scratch their nose but maintain eye contact.

“You weren’t.” To reassure them further, you return to the bedroll, kneeling in front of them and taking their hands. “I um, I didn’t think… it was that serious.”

“I do not do this with just anyone.” they admit. “Alas, I know not all follow this practice… I shall not judge if this is so for you. The memory alone would warm me on cold nights.”

A word you’d never before associated with Bloodhound comes to mind: cute. They’re blushing, words soft, urgent, like they’re throwing out the thoughts in their head while they have the confidence.

“And miss the way you look right now?” You take their face in your hands, their eyes wide and wet, reflecting the dying fire. “I just had no idea Hound. You’re so… quiet. So private. I thought you were… fucking with me? Or… or that you hated me. I never even considered…”

“I do not hate you.” They reassure you, their hands joining yours atop their face. “I did not know how to admit my feelings to you. You seemed so displeased with me, as of late, and I have a… hard-headed streak.”

“What? _You_?” The jibe gets a sardonic smile out of them. “So what changed?”

“As I said before, there are few that would seek me out for a personal issue. I admire your… tenacity!” A pleased look jumps to their face. “You forced my hand, coming here. So brazen… like offering yourself on a silver platter. How could I continue to resist? Especially after your taunting during our earlier match.”

It’s your turn to look abashed. “So you’re not mad about that?”

Bloodhound laughs. “Not all of us take the Games so personally, ástin mín.”

“Hey! You were _tanking_ my stats! Some of us have stuff to _pay for_.” You gesture around the barren camp.

“Alright, alright. Fair enough.” They offer you their hand. “Shall we call a truce?”

“Fine.” You clasp their hand in your own, shaking to seal the deal. They’re all smiles, now, and still stark naked. You shuffle on the blanket yourself, starting to feel the effects of the evening. “So. Um. Not to _presume_ , or anything, but…think there’s room for two on this thing?” You point down at the bedding.

“By all means.” They stand, pulling you with them, stepping away to draw the thick fur-lined blanket back to reveal the thin padding beneath it. “I will join you shortly.” Before stepping away entirely, they stoop to their discarded clothing, removing the furs from it and tossing them over to you. It makes your heart skip with a sort of youthful joy.

You’re feeling quite warm indeed, curled up under their furs with the fire emanating heat from the cinders left behind, by the time they return. They have their pants back on, and they add fresh wood to the fire, crouching to stoke the flames. You squint at them from beneath the covers.

“Where’d’jyou go?” you slur.

“To relieve myself.” They say it so simply, pointing indifferently to the far side of the clearing. Your eyes pop open in shock.

“Oh my God!”

“Hmmh?”

“I’m gonna have to pee in the woods!”

Bloodhound laughs heartily.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yndisleg - lovely  
> ástin mín - my love


End file.
